The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||
Scene VI.—A Street in Canterbury.
Citizens.1st Cit.
We are trapped and fooled. Death to the plotters! Haste!
2nd Cit.
And which be they?
1st Cit.
Who knows?
3rd Cit.
A saint is Thomas!
None questions that our primate is a saint;
We'd fight for him and gladly, were he sound:
310
He comes not forth, as once.
4th Cit.
A knight from London
Saw all, and wept to tell it. Nine long hours
The primate, girt with French and Flemish hordes,
Besieged the young king's gates. Richard de Luci
Past hope arriving, quenched the flames just lit:
The rebels fled by night.
2nd Cit.
The father-king
Will rage at this.
4th Cit.
He'll rage that two months since,
When Thomas wept before the royal feet,
He suffered his return. Good John of Oxford
Pledged faith that hour for Canterbury's sons,
Whom as his own he loves.
1st Cit.
Who told you that?
4th Cit.
The same old knight, kinsman of John of Oxford;
And John, he said, saw all.
An old Knight
(riding up).
God save you, sirs!
Conspirators are ye fat and well-liking!
Which lies the loudest?
Several Cits.
Nay, sir, true men we.
Old Knight.
Sirs, ye are Saxons; Saxons speak no truth;
Else, wherefore hid they long like thieves in caverns
To keep their treasons warm? What beast are you
That with your foul hand stain my horse's neck
Which shone like glass?—Let none deceive you, friends!
They'll leave you later to the royal wrath
Which, roused by wrong, burned late three towns in Maine.
Beware of full-fed priests and haughty bishops!
311
Most part from Normandy. They spake not English;
So vexed you not with sermons. What, my friends,
A man may go to heaven, yet hear not sermons!
That chime's my dinner bell! God save you, sirs,
And purge your primate's pride! A saint I deem him;
No doubt there's healing latent in his bones;
De Broc hath sworn to boil the proud flesh off them
To make the relics sooner serviceable.
Be wary, sirs; the knife is at your throat!
[Rides away.
The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||